‘I am sorry, Guy,’ Judith whispered. ‘Truly I am.’
He did not respond.
‘At least you have Heulwen.’
He looked up at that. ‘Yes,’ he agreed tonelessly, ‘at least I have Heulwen.’ And then he laughed and shook his head and buried his face again.
Judith knelt beside him, her arm across his mail-clad shoulder. ‘I wish I knew what to say, or how to ease the pain, but I don’t …’
‘Then don’t say anything,’ he muttered and, after a moment, withdrawing from her grasp, he stood up and moved towards the door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To the chapel, where else?’
‘No, Guy!’ She sprang after him. ‘Wait at least until you have rested. I’ll have a tub prepared and see to your comfort.’
‘Do you think I care about that?’
‘No, but I do.’ She took hold of his sleeve.
‘Let me go.’ Shrugging her off, he continued on his way.
‘Guyon, no … It’s not … I mean …’ She drew a shuddering breath and momentarily closed her eyes. ‘She did not die cleanly.’
‘Stop treating me like a nursling!’ he snarled and lengthened his stride.
Judith caught up her cloak and went after him. He might not be a nursling but he was inadequately prepared for what would greet him in the chapel.
Guyon looked at the row of shrouded pallets laid out before the altar, ten in all, white mounds of recent humanity.
Father Jerome fussed anxiously in the background. ‘A terrible business,’ he ventured, ‘but they are at peace now.’
Guyon drew back one of the sheets to look upon the face of Herluin FitzSimon, a promising young man who had served with him during the Welsh campaign and who would one day, in his middle years, have captained a keep garrison. All wasted now on the edge of a sword. The linen shift in which he had been clotheddid not cover the gaping wound in his throat or the sword slash that had laid his face open to the bone.
‘At peace, are they?’ Guyon enquired icily, replacing the sheet.
Father Jerome blenched. ‘You must not doubt it, my son,’ he said, putting out his hand to comfort.
Guyon stepped aside. ‘I would rather you left me alone.’
The priest hesitated. Judith lightly touched his arm. ‘Go to,’ she said. ‘It may be that he will need you later. I will stand surety for now.’
Relieved, the priest pressed her arm and quietly left her alone with Guyon. Judith squared her shoulders and went to her husband. He was staring down at Rhys.
‘If Godric had not survived, the bodies would not have been discovered for some time. I was not expecting the escort back for at least three days and no search party would have been sent out before five.’
‘You are telling me that this is fortunate?’ he said huskily, as he drew the sheet back over Rhys’s face.
‘It could have been much worse. At least they were saved being despoiled by foxes and crows. Heulwen owes her life to Godric.’
‘Sensible Judith,’ he snarled.
‘Guyon, stop it!’
‘Do you interfere for pleasure or because you cannot help yourself?’ he demanded savagely. ‘In Christ’s name, Judith, leave me alone!’
‘In Christ’s name, no!’ she retorted with equal vehemence. ‘I’ll not be your scapegoat!’ Going to the last pallet, she drew back the cover herself. ‘Look and have done and come away!’ she said brutally.
